A Human Orders, A Tag Obeys
by Midorima Kazunari
Summary: Given the Laws, can sex with a Twilight ever be consensual? (Worick and Nic at sixteen years old.)


"Aren't you going to, you know…" he lets his hands fall silent, he is inarticulate as ever in sign language. He knows the words better than Nic does, but at sixteen years old, he lacks the innate grace. Nic doesn't understand this shy side of his companion.

"No, you're done. It's enough," Nic replies, and climbs off Worick, pulling the condom off with a snap. One of them feels the sound, the other one hears it. Worick is so dazed he can only look at his partner's washboard tight six-pack, wet with the fruits of his passion, and feel that needy, hazy lust that got them into bed in the first place. Nic is only half-undressed to begin with, so it is only a matter of pulling his pants back up and fastening the zipper. He turns away from the bed, but Worick grabs his arm, pulling him back. Nic's eyebrow raises, as he looks at Worick's hand on him. Worick drops his hand quickly, like he's been burned.

"Wait! Why? I don't understand. You didn't like it, me?" Worick's signs get sloppier, faster, and smaller as he runs out of words.

Nic huffs; it's so hard to read Worick's hands when he gets agitated and unsure.

"Again, slower," he signs. Nic doesn't realize he makes a sound when he sighs, but he does, and it makes Worick's cheeks flame red.

"Why won't you finish? I was hoping..." Worick's turns his good eye away. He is ashamed and horny and the mixture is a bad fit. Nic is patient and waits until Worick peaks out at him through the long fringe of hair that hangs over both eyes, regardless of their ability to see.

"Next time be more specific. You said, 'fuck me,' so I fucked you," Nic signs. "You didn't say –"

Worick reaches out and stills Nic's hands. He doesn't want to _hear_ anymore. Worick's hand are so much smaller than Nic's, which is just strange considering how much taller he is. Worick counts the scars on Nic's knuckles. He doesn't know the story of some of those old wounds, but other's he does.

"You did this because of the Laws? Not because you wanted to have sex with me?" Worick says it out loud while staring off into the distance.

"LoOK aT ME tAlK," Nic demands out loud. There is more heat in his words than usual.

"If I told you to slit your stomach open with that stupid sword of yours, what would you do?" Worick gestures to the katana propped against the end of the bed. It is never more than arm's length away from Nic.

"I'd slit my stomach open." Nic reaches for the sword and thumbs the hilt up. Worick's seen that move a thousand times; it is a precursor to blood and mayhem.

"I'm no better than my father, or your father, for that matter. I'm just another fucking rapist," Worick signs angrily.

"Do you want me to slit open my stomach?" Nic asks, cocking his head to one side. It is the only thing he can think of to appease Worick. He doesn't understand his friend's emotions, having only stunted ones of his own. He's working on it, little by little, day by day, because it is important to Worick, and Worick is important to him.

Worick looks at him, sitting there with his head tilted and can't help thinking, again, that Nic reminds him of a dog – a faithful, loyal, vicious dog. If Worick is just some bastard mix of an uptown purebred and an alley stray, than Nic is one of those mongrels that fight in the ring down on Fifth Street.

"No, you stupid asshole. And here's a new order, so pay attention dipshit. You are never to have sex with anyone unless you, personally, want to have sex with them. Is that understood?"

Nic shrugs with one shoulder, but he narrows his eyes at Worick with a look the other can't decipher.

"Clean yourself up," Worick orders and then realizes it's another order Nic will follow without even stopping to think about it. A human orders and a tag obeys; it is the nature of their relationship and it always will be. Worick climbs out of the semi-double bed and trudges downstairs to the kitchen, still naked.

He grabs a bottle of overpriced water from the refrigerator and then stands by the open window. Someone whistles at him, even though they can only see him from the waist up. He runs a hand through his hair in a way that he's been told is sexy, and smiles at the unseen admirer.

Worick jumps, spitting out the expensive water as Nic yanks his hair.

"You should grow out your hair if you're going to do that move, it looks stupid like that."

"Yeah, yeah, maybe I will," he tugs at the strands of dirty blond hair, which barely come down past his ears.

In his head he makes a list of all the things he will never say again to Nic. It will be a hard learning curve, but he _will_ teach them both.

"How about I take you to Christiano's tonight" he tries to phrase every word so that there are no commands that must be obeyed. "There was a pretty tag there the other night who asked me if you were a gigolo as well. I could introduce you to her, maybe you'll hit it off."

"I don't trust your idea of pretty anymore," Nic grins.

Worick's laugh is so full-bodied that Nic knows he's scored a point even though he can't hear it. Even though happiness is an emotion Nic's never felt, he recognizes it when he sees it so clearly displayed on his friend's face.

"That's probably smart of you," Worick agrees. "Her eyes were wonky, but she had long, elegant fingers. I think they'd look gorgeous signing."

"You want to go back upstairs and finish what we started…it's not like I didn't want to, I just –"

"Nah, Nic, I've got a client I've got to go take care of...," Worick signs and stops to look at his watch. "...soon."

"Then why bother having sex with me? Shouldn't you save that for someone who pays?"

Worick can't tell him the truth. The moment Nic'd walked in all banged up from his latest fight, with that swollen eye and bloodied mouth, he'd gotten so incredibly turned on it hurt. It's not the damage that does it, he's not a sadist, but it's the fact that Nic continues to survive, probably at the other guy's expense, that does it. It proves that he, Worick, is alive to see it, and that Nic is still that much of a badass.

"The ladies pay me to last the hour," Worick says instead. "If you hadn't helped me out, I would have masturbated before I left anyway. I can't reach the climax before my lady."

Nic nods; he really doesn't understand all of it, he just figures that Worick knows what he's talking about, after all, he's spent enough time having sex with women for money that they can now afford their own place. There are things he will never experience firsthand, as a Twilight, so he must rely on Worick as he has for the last three years.

"I don't know how you keep it up for someone you don't have affection for," Nic signs.

Worick is caught off-guard; Nic had kept it up for him. By the time he can think again, Nic is gone from the room and out on the street.


End file.
